


Predicaments

by OffYourBird



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Communication, Don't copy to another site, Erotica, F/M, Kink Exploration, Light-Hearted, Predicament Bondage, Romance, Season/Series 05, Sex Toys, Subspace, Trust, and, and Joss's awful representation of bdsm as bad and dangerous sex for broken people, and having some fucking fun with the heart of what kink/bdsm is about:, connection, questionable public bystander consent, we're bypassing angsty S6 bdsm, with bonus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21764071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OffYourBird/pseuds/OffYourBird
Summary: One mangled metaphor, a quiet hellmouth summer post-Glory, and too many thoughts of Spike leave Buffy in a number of unexpected predicaments.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 30
Kudos: 237





	Predicaments

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for my third site-versary at the fabulous Spuffy paradise, Elysian Fields.
> 
> On a relevant note, please enjoy one of my favorite definitions of predicament play from a bondage workshop description: _Predicament play refers to a variety of sadomasochistic/kinky activities in which there is a particular set of physical parameters which simultaneously encourage different and mutual exclusive responses… The person who is in the predicament is faced with the dilemma of choosing among—and leaning into or away from—various painful or pleasurable or unusual sensations… Predicaments often involve a slow-burn, building up of intensity, from something that initially seems fine but then becomes more difficult/painful/overwhelming._
> 
> * * *

Buffy stared at her best friend in riveted horror. “You and Tara do what now?”

Willow blushed, fingers twitching against the afghan where she and Buffy sat on Buffy’s couch. “It’s actually really fun, you know?”

Buffy continued to stare, the unfamiliar words rolling around in her brain. _Predicament bondage._ The phrase sounded like some kind of weird, torturous math problem. Definitely the opposite of fun-having. Except apparently it wasn’t. And it was the last metaphor Buffy had expected to hear when asking for Willow’s advice on whether to take the semi-crappy waitressing job offer at Stella Mare’s, or the really crappy fry cook job offer at the Doublemeat Palace.

“Somehow,” Buffy managed with a weak smile, “I don’t think my job choice is going to be anything like… a sex game.”

“Well, sure it is,” Willow said eagerly, getting even redder in the face but clearly determined to see things through now that the bondage was out of the bag. “Neither is great, but you pick the option that seems the least hard or has the best potential payoff, try it out, and hopefully get some happy times, aka, paychecks. And if you find out that the first option isn’t all that great, then you try the other option.” Willow shrugged sheepishly. “I just meant that either choice isn’t the end of the world and might actually be okay for a while.”

 _Okay for a while._ God, that was a weird concept. Except without the actual ‘god’ part now that Sunnydale’s resident hell god was toast. It had come down to the wire—and the rickety tower built by Glory’s brigade of crazies.

And Spike.

If not for him, Buffy might’ve lost Dawn or the world, or both. He’d fought some supposed-to-have-already-been-dead demonic Glory worshipper who’d been trying to cut Dawn up, and had taken several major stab wounds in order to tackle the demon off the side of the tower. They’d both plummeted to the ground in a wince-worthy display that Buffy hadn’t had time to investigate until after she’d gotten Dawn down from her sacrificial alter. But afterward, Buffy had gingerly rolled the carcass of the now-dead-for-real demon zealot off of Spike’s unconscious and battered form. He’d looked almost as bad as he had after his round of torture à la Glory, his midsection bleeding profusely and his right leg bent at an unnatural angle.

Even with human blood taken from the hospital, it’d taken him three weeks to completely heal from his injuries.

Now, a month after Glory’s end, Spike was fully recovered; and now, well, clearly Buffy had too much free time, because patrolling with him had become one of the most exciting parts of her summer routine. Spike was actually pretty good company when he wasn’t being an asshole; and he was, as Buffy had come to unfortunately reflect on more and more, devastatingly attractive, even if so not her type.

But then, it was starting to seem like her type had made a seismic shift to short, sarcastic, and faux-blond when she wasn't looking.

 _It's not so unusual_ , Spike had told her last year, during his awful attempt at a date set-up. _Two people in the workplace... feelings develop._

While Buffy could truthfully and vehemently say—and _had_ said, on multiple occasions—last year that feelings had not developed in any way shape or form, it turned out she’d just been behind the curve a little. And after everything with Glory, even she couldn’t blame herself for acquiring feelings. Spike had nearly died twice protecting Dawn; and to top it off, his first words when he’d come back to consciousness after the final showdown had been a panicked and hoarse, “Dawn! Is Dawn all right?” After which, when reassurances had been given and he’d still looked terrified, he admitted, “Had an awful feeling it’d be you or the Bit that I’d lose, Slayer. I’m half afraid I’m dreaming right now. But god, don’t wake me up if I am.”

“Says the guy who told me I had a deathwish I was just itching to cash in on,” Buffy’d retorted.

Even with everything having come up dead demons and intact Scoobies, it didn’t keep Spike’s deathwish speech from rankling. It didn't help that Spike's speech had only been the first one, either, since the Guide had essentially given her the same spiel with that _death is your gift_ garbage during her vision quest.

The worst part was, neither of them had been wrong.

Buffy would never admit it aloud but, after Glory had taken Dawn, she’d had a dream where she’d died to save the world. Most of the details went hazy after waking, but she couldn’t shake the yearning that came from feeling that dying meant everything would be quiet and safe and _done_. It’d been the best dream she’d had in years.

Of course, it turned out life post-Glory had brought most of the things her dream had promised—even if only temporarily—and she was beyond grateful that she hadn’t had to choose her life for Dawn’s. Not that she would have regretted it for a second, if that was what she’d had to do, but the idea of Spike celebrating the occasion sat like a nauseating weight in the pit of her stomach.

“Plus, if memory serves,” she'd added with tight, merciless accusation, “you said you were looking forward to it.”

Spike’s face took on an expression of such pained contrition that she had to look away. “I was being a complete git then, trying to scare you into living,” he said lowly, fiercely. “Didn’t realize until afterward that I’d done it all the wrong way. And no one’s sorrier for that cock-up than me. Truth is, Buffy, you’re going to outlive me.”

That’d startled her. She met his eyes again with cynical confusion. “Me, mortal Slayer, is going to outlive you, immortal vampire?”

“That’s right,” he rasped, wincing as he shifted on his bed, antagonizing his pile of bruises and broken bones. “Because the next time your death’s pitching on the mound, I _will_ be there just like I said I would. And I’ll be switching up the rotation so I’m next to up to bat.” He smiled faintly, crookedly. “Might even get a home run. Have myself a real good day.”

Buffy hadn’t had any idea what to say to that, so she’d stuck with the safety of diversion. “Did you really just compare dying to baseball? That’s weirdly… American of you.”

Spike huffed in exasperation. “I’ll compare it to cricket and rugby and bleeding football too, if that’s what it takes to get the point across, you infuriating chit.”

A laugh had bubbled out from between Buffy's lips before she’d been able to stop it. “I think I’m good with the baseball metaphor.”

“Brilliant,” Spike said testily. Then, a few minutes later, after she’d set him up with a couple thermoses of warm blood, he’d clutched her wrist, his breath shaky. “I am awake, right? Not dreaming?”

The desperation in his gaze had undone her. “You are one hundred percent with the awake,” she affirmed quietly.

He’d just heaved a sigh in reply and sank down into his pillows, eyes fluttering shut—entirely at peace knowing that she and Dawn were alive and well.

So yeah, feelings had developed.

Which left Buffy with a whole other kind of predicament bondage scenario: to go down a path that should absolutely not be gone down with another vampire, even one who had now proven to everyone—even Xander and Giles—that he had changed in big and terrifying ways, or… to not.

And wow, applying the word _bondage_ to the idea of her and Spike was not helping anything.

She really needed to get more of a life. Thankfully, since Mom’s death, the bills had continued to exist and multiply, which required life-having to start happening pronto.

“I’m going to take the waitressing job at Stella Mare's,” she told Willow with a determined nod. “And if I don’t like it… then I’ll do something different.”

Something that wasn’t Spike.

Of course, even after Buffy settled into her new waitressing job at Sunnydale’s only locale for French cuisine, the urge to switch up her position with Spike didn’t fade in the way she’d hoped it would.

It was all her friends’ fault. It was bad enough that Buffy'd spent the last two years hearing way more than she ever wanted to know about Xander and Anya’s creative sex life, but now it turned out that Willow and Tara had been equally adventurous. If pressed, Buffy could have hesitantly guessed that Willow might go for bondage, but _Tara_? Not to mention, according to Willow, Tara was usually the dominant partner in their… activities. Talk about unexpected.

Was that kind of sexual exploration actually normal, and Buffy had just been cheated into thinking the same three basic activities were what made up the _Normal Sex_ catalog? Not that anything with Riley had been bad—he’d been very dutiful about making her come most of the time, at least in the beginning of their relationship—but they’d never done anything that could be even remotely described as kinky. In fact, he’d commented several times that he thought Xander and Anya’s sex life was kind of perverse. So, in retrospect, the chances of him actually considering any of it had she asked seemed pretty nil.

And for the first time, Buffy realized she might’ve actually liked to have the option.

So, she did what single women her age were supposed to do (after leaving Dawn at Willow and Tara’s place): got gussied up in a black and red ensemble that screamed “I’m adventurous and naughty,” headed to the Bronze, positioned herself strategically at the bar with a watered-down drink, and waited for a guy to try and pick her up.

Of course, it took her all of five minutes to realize that, not only was the likelihood of a random one-night-stand guy wanting to get kinky with her super low, it was also something she didn’t feel all that comfortable initiating with someone she didn’t know. Especially when she had no idea what she was doing in the first place.

So, she finished her drink and headed to the Espresso Pump, where they’d installed an internet-connected computer at a table in the back, which people could use for a small charge. After paying six dollars for an hour of net surfing, and positioning the computer screen so that hopefully no one would see what she was doing, Buffy started researching. Which was, according to every site, exactly what a good kink practitioner was supposed to do before getting involved in anything. Tally her up for a win.

Frankly, some of the options turned out to be terrifying, and some were just non-interesting. But some of the options… Some of them looked kind of fun. And the best part was that it was apparently common for people to do activities with people they weren’t even romantically involved with. All a person needed was someone they meshed well with, someone they could trust.

It all kept coming back to Spike.

After all, those were two of the three things Buffy knew for certain when it came to Spike: she worked well with him, and he’d earned her trust.

The third—and most recent addition to the line-up—was that, somehow and somewhy, he loved her.

It was the third certainty that made everything complicated, though. Asking someone who was in love with her to have no-strings-attached sex was just plain cruel. Except, she was talking about a vampire who’d had a Buffy robot made because that was the closest to having her he thought he’d ever get. If Spike had the choice between getting some of the real thing or none at all, which would he want?

She had no idea.

Buffy straightened her shoulders and exited the internet browser. If she made the choice alone, she was doing the same thing to Spike that had been done to her with Riley: not even knowing she had the option. The worst case scenario was that Spike turned her down and—while that would be mortifying—it might actually mean she’d stop thinking of _"_ what if" when it came to them.

***

Buffy was already standing outside Spike’s crypt when she realized she was still dressed like she was asking for kinky sex right that minute. Which was probably an unfair advantage to have for this specific conversation, but when had she and Spike ever really played fair, anyway?

She pushed open the crypt door, nibbling her bottom lip and feeling anxiety roar to life when she found the living room empty. The presence of a vampire tingled lightly down the back of her neck, however. “Spike?”

A muffled rustling came from the direction of the downstairs. Spike’s head popped up through the trapdoor opening a few moments later with a surprised frown. “Slayer? What brings…” His mouth fell open as he focused on her attire—a short black mini dress, red leather jacket, and knee-high black boots—and his words trailed off into silence.

Pride rushed up Buffy’s spine at his ogling. Her nerves dissipated. “Have a minute?”

Spike swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Several.” He came the rest of the way up to the top floor, eyes never leaving her. “You, ah, have plans for the evening, do you?”

“Are you basing that on how I’m dressed?”

His gaze dragged down her body unapologetically. “Well, yeah.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t think I’ve seen you this kind of made-up before. Well, there was that one time at the Bronze with the cosmetics, but not,” he waved vaguely in her direction, “the rest.”

Buffy frowned. _At the Bronze? When was that?_ And was it a good or bad thing that Spike remembered it when she didn’t? She touched her cheek self-consciously. She’d spent an absurdly long time getting her smoky eye effect just right, and capped it off with wine-red lipstick that she’d half-forgotten she owned. “Does it not look good?”

Spike pursed his lips and brushed past her, heading to his mini-fridge. “Looks bleeding fantastic,” he muttered. “Not quite your usual speed, though, unless you’re planning on taunting me again.”

Buffy scrunched up her nose. “Huh? No. I just decided to change things up.”

He snorted as he drew out a jar of blood and uncapped it, his back to her. “Looking to break the mold of tall, dark, and dull for your shags, are you?”

Nerves settled again in the bottom of Buffy’s stomach, moderated with irritation. “Actually,” she managed evenly. “I am.”

Spike whirled back to her, eyes flashing. “Well, hip hip hurrah for you then, pet.” He took a long, almost violent swig of blood. A bitter smile twisted his lips. “I suppose that means you’re here seeing if I can take patrol while you’re off about town.”

“I’ve already been out,” she said pointedly. “Didn’t find what I wanted.”

Spike lifted a brow, some of his moodiness shifting to confusion. “I think I’ve lost the plot somewhere.”

“Trust me, Spike, you’ve never had the plot.”

He rolled his eyes and took another swig of blood. “Just tell me why you’re here, Slayer.”

Buffy clenched her fists convulsively. Despite the great temptation to stall for time, dancing around the subject was likely to generate an even higher potential for mortification. So this was it: she either had to just say it, or turn on her heel and leave.

She stood her ground. “I want to try out kinky sex stuff, and I want you to be my partner.”

Spike choked on his blood. He slapped the jar down on the top of the fridge, coughing effusively, then turned to her with stunned, disbelieving eyes. “You… _what_?”

Buffy took a deep a breath, her face flushing red. “Kinky stuff, you, me. I just need to know if you want to… do that.”

Spike blinked owlishly at her, and didn’t say anything for so long that she started to worry that she’d broken him. Figured. An organ and an Initiative chip hadn’t done it, but bring out the idea of kinky sex and _wham_. Broken Slayer of Slayers. She wasn’t sure whether she should be more pleased or annoyed.

“Earth to Spike,” she said, waving her hand in his direction.

He jerked, the dazed look fading. “You’re serious?”

“As a demon attack.”

“What’s the catch?” he asked faintly.

Buffy sighed. Trust Spike to land on the least appealing part of things first. “That this wouldn’t mean we’re dating. It wouldn’t mean there’s a future for us. It wouldn’t mean I love you or ever want to.”

A shadow drew down Spike’s face. “Oh, I see now. It’s a Scyllian choice.”

“I like to think of it more as predicament bondage.”

Spike stared at her incredulously, and Buffy reddened again. It was clearly time to make her retreat while she still had some shred of dignity remaining.

“Look, just… think about it, and let me know. You know where to find me.”

She had almost made it to the door when Spike’s voice stopped her, his tone heavy with scathing fury.

“Why me, Slayer? Think just because I’m a vamp that I’m your doorway into the world of naughty pleasure?”

Buffy turned on her heel. The blistering reply that waited on the tip of her tongue died when she saw the hurt radiating from Spike’s form.

“Actually,” she said instead, with forced perkiness, “what I thought is that I trust you and that we work well together. The creature of the night thing is just a bonus.”

Some of Spike’s hostility faded. “Oh.”

“I’m not oblivious,” she added. “I know I’d be getting the way better end of the deal here. I know it’s not fair to you, considering how you feel about me. But I thought it was at least… polite… to ask you if you wanted this before I decided you didn’t.”

Spike didn’t answer, which seemed like a good signal that the conversation was now officially over. Buffy turned toward the door again.

“You’re trying way too bloody hard, luv.”

Buffy turned back to Spike with an exasperated huff. “What?”

He stepped silently, predatorily toward her. “You,” he repeated slowly, “are trying too hard. That get-up you’ve got on is fine for a specific scene or role-play, but not for starting out. It’s like jumping in the deep end of the pool when you haven’t even tried paddling in the shallows with armbands.”

Buffy held back a glare with supreme effort. “And just what should I be starting out with, Mr. Expert?”

“Familiar territory. Something comfortable.”

“Comfortable. Noted.” Buffy pursed her lips. “Is that all?”

“No,” Spike said flatly as he approached her. His chest heaved unnecessarily. “If it’s between Scylla and Charybdis, I’ll take the whirlpools every time.”

Buffy frowned helplessly. “Which one is that? Which one is me?”

A crooked smile bent Spike’s lips. “Scylla was a many-headed monster bound to take out a number of sailors on any poor bastard’s ship. Charybdis was a sea beastie who belched whirlpools, likely to drown the whole crew.”

“So, Charybdis was worse.”

Spike leveled her with a smoldering look. “Worse’s all subjective. More dangerous, though, there’s no doubt.”

And just like that, she knew exactly which creature she was. “So, you… want to?”

That earned her a derisive snort. “Slayer, you and I both knew exactly what my answer would be the second you stepped in here looking like you do.”

"I really didn't know," she admitted. She flashed him a wry smile. "But I did try to set myself up for success."

"And you did a bang-up job, pet."

Buffy nodded. She had. Spike had agreed to do kinky stuff with her. _Oh god, he'd agreed._ She swallowed hard as the statement sunk in and panic rose. Kinky, sexy things were actually going to happen sometime soon. With Spike.

Spike eyed her narrowly, seemingly reading her anxiety. Probably smelling it, too, which was about ten kinds of gross.

“The real question is,” he said sharply, “do _you_ want to?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who started this whole conversation.”

“Doesn’t mean the reality is suddenly as pretty.”

Buffy lifted her chin in challenge. “What do we start with?” It wasn’t until she asked that she realized how few parameters she’d set. Was Spike going to recommend that they get busy here right now in his crypt? Was he going to tie her up, go straight for pain? (It wasn’t like pain was unfamiliar territory in her life, after all.)

Spike shot her a wicked grin that didn’t help her misgivings at all. “We, Slayer, are going to start with insults.”

_With… what?_

***

Out of a desire to nip any apocalyptic troubles in the bud, the Scoobies were still meeting every Tuesday at the Magic Box; though, with summer getting in full swing on their seasonally quiet hellmouth, it was more of an excuse to hang out than anything else. And it was, according to Spike, the ideal setting for their first “scene.” Buffy had been far from sold on the idea, and had only reluctantly agreed when Spike pulled the "you said you trust me" card. In retrospect, Spike was right. More than right. He had the whole thing annoyingly, impossibly bull's-eyed.

Buffy had completely underestimated how erotically wrong it would feel to pretend while in public with her friends. Mostly, she'd thought she’d feel stupid and self-conscious. But when Spike barreled in through the front door with a scorched blanket over his head and met her eyes, she was immediately hyper-aware of her body and his presence and this secret they now held between them. Her heart started pumping hard and fast, and half of her now-racing blood flew south, starting up a whirlwind of low-down butterflies.

“Evening, all,” Spike announced, breaking his gaze from hers to fold up his blanket by the door. He strutted toward the counter and hitched his hip up on it, giving Buffy a curt nod. “Slayer.”

 _Showtime._ She lifted a brow. “Spike. You’re looking especially dead tonight.”

“Not everyone has a stick up their arse to keep them lively like you do, pet."

Buffy’s eyes widened. Suddenly, the idea of having a stick up her ass was a lot more than a euphemism for being uptight. And Spike clearly knew it, based on the wicked grin he was flashing her. The jerk. “Better watch it, or I’ll find another place for my stick.”

Spike’s gaze turned questioning and salaciously mirthful. “Don’t tease, luv.”

Xander glanced uneasily between Buffy and Spike as the other Scoobies exchanged bewildered looks. “You two, uh, doing okay?”

“We’re peachy keen,” Buffy said brightly.

Xander didn’t look convinced. “If you say so.”

“What, I can’t pick on my favorite neutered bloodsucker anymore?”

Willow nibbled her bottom lip with a frown. “It’s just kind of… unexpected.”

Buffy barely held back a laugh. If she ever needed more evidence that her friends had accepted Spike as a member of their gang, she could just mark down that they were actually _worried_ about her exchanging jibes with him. Jibes that a year ago they wouldn't have batted an eyelash about.

“Slayer’s just re-upping the status quo,” Spike said lazily, looking down at his fingernails. They were newly painted, starkly jet black against his pale skin. “Can’t be getting too chummy with a mortal enemy. It’s unnatural.”

Anya looked over from where she was counting money at the till. “The idea of anything as unnatural is pretty nonsensical, if you ask me. Something can be in good or bad taste, sure, but nothing exists outside the natural expanse of universal possibilities, not even the gods.”

“And we proved that,” Tara said with a small smile. “Since we made Glory go squish and everything.”

“Indeed,” Giles added, looking discomforted for reasons they all knew but hadn’t mentioned aloud. It hadn’t escaped Buffy’s—or anyone’s—notice that Ben had been found dead on the ground after Buffy had left him injured, but very much breathing, before sprinting up to the tower.

Some things were just better left unsaid.

“Well, Spike may not be unnatural,” Buffy said airily, “but that he’s in bad taste is obvious.” She fixed the vampire in question with a critical eye. “I mean, really, Spike, just how long are you going to let your wardrobe pretend it’s 1983?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Spike said equally as lightly. “Probably for as long as you pretend blonde’s your natural hair color.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I’m not pretending anything,” Spike with a huff. “I’m making a statement.”

“I’ll say.” Buffy leaned back in her chair, eyes raising to the ceiling with faux-contemplation as a thrill of pleasure sang up her spine. “But what that statement is remains one of the great mysteries of the universe. Maybe it’s ‘I’m clearly mirror-impaired’ or ‘I wanted to be an extra in _The Matrix_ but didn’t even make it to final auditions.’”

“Har har,” Spike said with a sneer.

And geez, Spike sneering at her was not supposed to be sexy. The room, which had been slowly raising in temperature, was suddenly about twenty degrees too hot, and what had started as simple, down-low butterflies blossomed into full-out, squirming discomfort.

Spike’s nostrils flared, and she knew he’d caught her out. His sneer rolled into a malicious, taunting leer. “At least I’m not chasing away every bloke who sniffs in my direction, pet. Tell me, is that perfume you wear called Eau de Love Pariah?”

“Oh that is _it_!” Buffy was on her feet before she finished getting the words out. She snatched Spike by the lapels of his duster, ignoring his offended, “Oi!” and gave her shell-shocked friends and Watcher a tight, deadly smile. “Pardon us. Spike and I need to go have a private chat.”

She shoved Spike through the open door of the training room without waiting for a reply, slammed it behind them, and then pointed imperiously to the back door leading to the alley. “Out.”

Spike leered obscenely as he strutted outside. “As you like, Mistress.”

 _Mistress?_ Buffy froze for a beat before following him, her body swimming with shock and arousal.

“You,” she declared once the door was safely shut behind them, “are evil.”

Spike’s leer widened as he lounged against the brick wall, his fingers splayed lewdly through his belt loops to frame his crotch. “Liked that game, did you?”

Buffy exhaled a shaky, exasperated laugh. “Everyone’s going to give us the third degree when we go back.”

“Well,” Spike drawled, pushing off the brick and stepping right in front of her, “that just means we ought to take our sweet time getting back then, doesn’t it?” He ran a hand up her arm, fingers barely brushing her skin and casting electric sparks in their wake. His head dipped down to meet hers, and Buffy drew in a sharp, warning breath. He stilled, leaving just the faintest, deferential gap between them, and looked at her with half-lidded eyes. “Mistress?” His voice was a low growl, sex in verbal form.

Heat flooded Buffy's insides, washing away all the misgivings that had dared rear their little heads. Wasn’t this what she’d asked Spike for, after all? Insults were only half the equation.

“We should definitely take our time,” she agreed breathlessly, then closed the remaining inch between their lips and kissed her mortal-enemy-turned-ally-turned-kink-partner with every ounce of pent-up lust their scene had managed to generate.

And _oh god_ , she’d forgotten how well Spike could kiss in the time since their brief, spell-induced engagement two years ago. She’d shoved every humiliating memory of their loving lip locks into a very dark, dusty corner of her brain, reminding herself over and over again how fake it all had been until she finally believed it.

Except, Spike’s kissing skills weren’t at all fake. And the way he slid his hands down her sides and pressed the heel of his hand against her clit so that she could grind against it was definitely not fake, either.

Buffy whimpered a protest when he withdrew his touch and pushed her back against the brick alley wall.

“Just getting better leverage,” he growled against her ear before nipping her earlobe and thrusting against her with unmistakably urgency.

A heady thrill went through her, an aching kind of hunger she hadn’t felt since early last year when Dracula had come to town. It was a thirst that not even sex with Riley had been able to quench. But she had the funny feeling that sex with Spike might actually do the trick.

She turned her head and caught Spike’s lips again in a fierce kiss, taking him in with all of her senses in a way she’d staunchly avoided doing in the past—the cool saltiness and iron tang of his mouth, laced under with something slightly, unidentifiably sweet; the musk of his scent, a mix of tobacco, cologne, and leather; the tender paleness of his skin and unexpected softness of his gelled curls, almost luxurious beneath her fingers; the canyon-steep edges of his jaw and cheekbones, cut away by full, feminine lips and lashes; the way his breath hitched every time she laved or caressed a sensitive spot.

Oh yes, sex with Spike would absolutely do the trick.

She reached for Spike’s belt buckle and undid it with both hands.

Spike froze, breaking away from her lips to stare at her with complete confusion. “Buffy?”

She froze as well. “That’s me?”

“What…” Spike swallowed hard. “What’re you doing?”

It was her to stare. “I thought that was obvious.”

Spike heaved a deep sigh that made all of her heated skin turned ice cold. “Luv, this scene wasn’t about that. As much as I’d love to shag you senseless right here, it’s not exactly starting out in the shallow end of the pool.”

Confusion turned to anger. “You’re the one who was pinning me against the brick and grinding on me!” She shoved him away to emphasize the point.

“Well, yeah,” Spike said with a huff as he stumbled back. “Since the opportunity presented itself, I was going for a bit of dry humping on the way to getting you off.”

Buffy threw up her hands. “I hate to tell you, Casanova, but that’s not the shallow end of the pool. And I would know, because all I’ve ever done sex-wise is wade in the shallow end.” She set her jaw, embarrassed and furious. “I mean, for god’s sake, I’ve never even had sex anywhere not on a bed!” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “The kinky stuff is supposed to be the slow part, _not_ the sex part, okay?!”

“Okay,” he snarled, darting forward to re-pin her against the brick. His mouth hovered right against hers, his voice falling low and husky. “You wanna get shagged outside your Watcher’s shop while all of your chums are waiting inside for us, do you, Slayer?”

The cooling flames of Buffy’s lust re-ignited with a twisted, welcome fury at the question, but all of her instincts screamed against verbal agreement. Maybe she could get away without saying the words, without making the final admission that officially held her liable for engaging in freaky sex activities. Then she remembered a section she’d memorized from one of the sex articles she’d found during her Espresso Pump research: _Know the kind of kink play you want to explore, and ask for it. Otherwise, you’re doing a disservice to you, your partner, and the institution of sex._

Buffy could handle philosophically injuring herself or—with slightly more discomfort—her partner, but wronging the entire institution of sex? Definitely not a line she was going to cross.

“Yes,” Buffy admitted unsteadily, straightening her shoulders. “That’s what I want.”

Spike’s answering grin was so dirty that any self-respecting parent in sight would’ve broken out the soap. “As my Mistress commands.”

To Buffy’s startled confusion, she was immediately spun around to face the wall and her hips were tugged back so that her back was slightly arched, her palms pressing flat against the brick for balance.

Spike rubbed his clothed cock along her ass as he brushed her hair to the side and planted a series of kisses along the back of her neck that made her quiver.

“Why,” Buffy managed, “am I looking at the wall?”

Spike smirked against her neck. “Because I figure the only thing naughtier than you getting fucked out here by me, is you getting fucked out here doggy style by me.” He laid another kiss against her overheated skin, his right hand reaching around to tweak her nipples while his left hand lifted up her skirt. “Am I wrong?”

“No.” Buffy whimpered inelegantly as his fingers slid up the curve of her ass. “Totally right.”

Spike groaned as her skirt was hitched up fully to her waist. “You wore red silk knickers. Jesus.”

“I… I wanted it to be nice.” After Spike’s remarks from the other night, she’d put some major thought into what might qualify as ‘subtly kinky,’ and red silk underthings had seemed to fit the bill.

“You’re a marvel,” Spike whispered against her ear, his voice hoarse and awed.

Buffy meant to reply—maybe at least say “thank you”—but his fingers dipped beneath her panties and starting stroking her clit. Her fingers correspondingly dug into the brick and her forehead pressed low against the wall as she mewled. She half wished she could see Spike’s face, but there was definitely something elicit having her back to a vampire—a vulnerability that would’ve been unthinkable without the certainty of trust between them—and something _extra_ elicit about said vampire working to get her off instead of just trying to off her.

If only Riley could see her now. Since he’d thought Anya and Xander’s activities were perverse, just what would he think of Buffy letting Spike, of all vampires, do this? No, not even letting. _Wanting._

“Fuck me,” she whispered.

Spike laughed against her skin as he continued stroking her. “Bloody hell, woman, what do you think I’m doing right now?” One of his fingers dipped inside her, thrusting in a curling motion that nearly buckled her knees. “This better?”

“No. I mean, yes, but I want you inside me for real.”

There was a pause, then Spike’s right hand disappeared from her breasts. Buffy gasped with shock as her panties were unceremoniously ripped from her, cool evening air hitting all of her sensitive parts in a rush. She caught the sound of a zipper unfastening, then Spike’s cock nudged her ass, the appendage enticingly cool and hard. Buffy wiggled desperately as Spike ran his dick down the length of her ass to her pussy, and was about to reiterate her demand when he plunged inside her with one hard thrust.

Buffy gasped, muscles quivering as Spike filled her. _Oh god._ It had been way, way too long since there had been a guy inside her. And, wow, standing like this was totally the way to go, lighting up nerve endings she’d never realized she’d owned.

“Christ,” Spike swore, sounding as stunned as she felt. “You feel so fucking good.” He shifted his hips and pulled nearly the entire way out of her before slamming back in.

Buffy moaned and quaked against the brick, hoping wildly that the Magic Box walls were thick enough to drown out the noise. “You too,” she gasped, eyes squeezing shut as Spike resumed rubbing her clit.

“Been dreaming of fucking you for ages,” Spike managed between thrusts. “Spent so many bloody hours imagining how hot and tight your gorgeous cunt would be. Wondering if you’d try and break me in–” His words cut off with a strangled exhale when she clenched around him. “Sodding hell, just like that.”

He slammed inside her again, his fingers working hard at her, and the heat swirling through her limbs concentrated around her clit, swelling outward almost unbearably, ready to explode. Spike stroked her faster, and Buffy came with a scream. She managed to half muffle it against her hands, biting down on the side of her palm as she rode out the waves.

“Next time,” Spike growled, “bite me instead.” He raised his hands to cover her own on the brick as he continued thrusting around her convulsing pussy.

“Does biting,” Buffy managed when she regained her breath, “count as a kink if you’re a vampire?”

Spike chuckled hoarsely, lips making a teasing line down the back of her neck. “No, that’s pretty much standard issue. Shagging the Slayer, though, that’s as deviant as it gets.”

“So, you’re officially bent.”

“And it makes you scream.”

He twisted his hips to illustrate the point, and Buffy keened, back arching, as sensation went from _post-orgasm sensitized_ straight into _agonizingly blissful_. She shuddered, coming again—everything clenching and releasing at once in a stunning wave—and bit down on the top of Spike's hand where it covered hers.

Spike groaned. “Oh fuck, luv. Gonna pop.”

Another few thrusts and he stiffened behind her, jerking against her ass as he spilled himself inside her. He collapsed against her back a moment later, his cock slipping from her, and they stood awkwardly pressed against the brick, both of them breathing hard and Buffy coated in sweat.

“So,” Spike said finally, his voice raspy, “how was it having a shag outside of bed?”

Buffy turned to her head to look at him, and was caught in the glow of smugly satisfied blue eyes. She was tempted to say something to wipe away the look but, well, Spike had earned a little bit of gloating.

“I think,” she said shakily, “I’ve been missing out.”

The smug look shifted to one of honest, surprised pleasure, and Buffy was immediately glad she hadn’t been bitchy.

“Happy to assist, Slayer.” Spike stepped back and stuffed his still-hard cock—how was he _still_ hard?—back inside his jeans and zipped up. “Shall we get back inside and face your mates?”

Buffy turned on her heel and fixed her skirt, wincing as wetness slipped down her thighs. “Once I find something to clean up with.”

Spike nodded sharply and opened the back door. “I’ll nick you a towel from the training room. Stay put.”

“Thanks.” Buffy stopped him from heading inside with a hand on his arm. “And Spike?”

He lifted a brow. “Yeah, pet?”

“My friends? They're sort of your friends now too.”

Spike frowned, glancing toward the training room. A hint of wary defensiveness stiffened his shoulders. “Says who? I’m not some lost puppy the super friends needed to adopt.”

“No,” Buffy agreed wryly, “you’re more like the lost, toothless wolf that we begrudgingly let join the pack after you wouldn’t go away and stopped trying to eat us.”

Spike glared at her. “Ta for that. So much better.”

“Hey, you’ve already said you’re officially warped by loving me. Might as well just accept that you’ve become friends with my friends too.” Buffy swallowed hard, pressing her thighs close together to avoid more stickiness from sliding down. “Own your kinks.”

Spike pursed his lips and glanced inside again. “Slayer, you do realize that kind of kink makes me the sorriest excuse for a vampire there ever was.”

“Well, it means you’re having sex with me?”

Spike sighed. “Fair point.” He shot her a look of bewildered gratitude. “I’ll fetch you that towel now.”

***

Spike’s next suggestion for a scene was for them to get physical in the traditional vampire-Slayer kind of way, which made Buffy stare incredulously at him.

“And how do you plan we do that with your chip?”

Spike shrugged as he lounged on his couch. “The same way we did it when I told you about the other Slayers at the Bronze. If I’m not actually trying to hurt you, it doesn’t usually go off.”

“Usually,” Buffy repeated. She lifted a brow. “What if things get unusual and it ends up going off?"

“Then I’ll need a thirty second time-out to unscramble my brain before we can go at it again.”

Buffy scoffed. “Oh come on, like you’ll really want to keep up a sexy fight after that.”

“It’d take a lot more than a few zaps to ruin me wanting to shag you, Slayer," Spike growled. "And, shagging aside, it’d be worth it anyhow just to have a bit of rough and tumble with you again.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, scattering curls everywhere. “I’m tough, I can take the pain.”

The grimly resigned way he said it made Buffy consider for the very first time that maybe all hell wouldn’t break loose if Spike got his chip out. Which then made her consider if she actually trusted Spike or if she just trusted the Initiative chip. Which then made her to come to the terrifyingly speedy conclusion that the chip had very little bearing on her trust in him these days. Plus, she was able to be honest enough with herself now to admit that an unleashed Spike offered a lot more possibilities for kinky fun. She didn’t, however, think that line of reasoning would ever fly with her friends. But maybe… maybe she could approach it a different, and equally honest, way.

“Let’s skip that kind of scene for now,” she said finally.

Spike’s face fell. “Right,” he muttered bitterly. “Suppose there’s no fun in fighting a castrated vamp.”

“You,” she said generously, “are definitely _not_ castrated.”

Spike’s sulky expression washed away with a laugh. “Are you trying to boost my ego, pet?”

“Did it work?”

“Like a charm.”

“Good.” She shrugged. “I’ll brainstorm ideas. Maybe see you soon?”

Spike nodded, eyes glittering. “Count on it.”

Buffy left his crypt with a wave. She had an hour before her shift started at Stella Mare’s, which left plenty of time to go see Willow.

***

In a near perfect mirror of their conversation from a few weeks ago, it was Willow’s turn to stare with riveted horror. “You want me to do what now?”

“I want you to find a way to deactivate Spike’s chip,” Buffy repeated steadily, fists clenching. “I know you downloaded all that information from the Initiative servers before we fried them. There has to be something in there about how to shut it down.”

“Well… maybe,” Willow allowed hesitantly. “But _why_?”

“Because, even though it’s definitely been the better choice to have Spike chipped up until now, it’s time he got the chance to prove to all of us that the other way isn’t worse.”

Willow frowned. “Is this coming from my really bad bondage metaphor?”

“Kind of,” Buffy admitted. “But only because it makes sense.” She sighed. “Wil, I’ve spent so much of my time being Buffy, Miss Righter of Wrongs, that I think at some point I forgot that there isn’t always a right answer outside of apocalypse season. And sometimes not even in it. I mean, look at everything with Glory. According to Giles, saving the world was more right than saving Dawn. But… not to me.”

Willow nibbled her bottom lip anxiously. “What happens if Spike goes back to being evil with his chip out?”

“Do you think he would?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I hope he wouldn’t but…” Willow cocked her head curiously. “I never expected you to be willing to risk it.”

Buffy’s mouth twisted wryly. “Me neither.”

Willow’s questioning look intensified. “So, what changed your mind?”

 _Oh, the just fact that sex and pain and romance are permanently twisted up in my brain._ Except, in this scenario, the pain would be controlled and consented to. She and Spike even had a safeword— _Angel_ —because it was bound to douse them both with cold water when said, no matter what. As for the romance part… Buffy froze. Had she seriously just thought that what she and Spike were doing could potentially qualify as _romance_?

Oh no.

Apparently, her "what if" about them had reached "just say when" status.

“Buffy?”

Buffy met Willow’s eyes with grim resignation that might’ve been even grimmer than Spike’s had been. “Because I’d like to know if this vampire is going to turn back to being evil _before_ I start dating him.”

Willow’s eyes turned saucer wide. “Dating?” Her voice came out in a squeak. “Does… Spike know?”

“No.”

Willow’s eyes narrowed. “You hesitated.”

“I did not!”

“Did so.” Willow donned her inescapable Resolve Face. “You’re hiding something.”

 _Crap._ "I'm really not," Buffy said, in a voice she hoped was sufficiently convincing.

Willow just shook her head. "Nu uh. Not buying it."

Buffy maintained an expression of denial for a minute longer but, when Willow just continued to wear her Resolve Face, she finally sighed defeat. “Spike and I had sex, okay?”

Willow’s mouth fell open. “What? When?!”

“Last week.” Buffy winced again. “At the Scooby meeting.”

Willow gaped harder, a small gurgle rising from her throat.

“Wil… it wasn’t… I mean–”

“Oh goddess,” Willow said abruptly. Her breath exhaled in a hysterical giggle. “The whole throwback snipey thing you two had going on! That wasn’t real.”

“Um. No.”

Willow burst out into full-fledged, scandalized laughter. “ _Buffy_. I can't believe you did that!"

Buffy crossed her arms around her waist defensively. “Like you and Tara, and Xander and Anya aren’t getting up to your own kinky stuff! And don’t even _try_ to tell me that any of you haven’t done dirty things with your partners in the Magic Box basement under the guise of ‘finding supplies,’ Miss Judgy Pants.”

“I’m not judging,” Willow said quickly. “ _So_ not judging. I just… wow. Trying to get my head around it.”

 _You and me both._ “Well, take your time,” Buffy said with a grimace as she stood from Willow’s couch. “I have to get to work anyway.”

Willow’s expression set into a determined line. “Buffy?”

“Mhm?”

“I’ll look into the chip, okay?”

Relief flooded Buffy’s insides. “Really?”

Willow smiled faintly. “Of course. Just promise me, if this all goes sideways…”

“If this goes sideways,” Buffy finished with a sigh, “then I’ll stake Spike and swear off dating for the rest of forever.”

***

Buffy left work at eleven after closing down the dining room and started trudging home. Waitressing had always left her bone weary in a way that not even slaying could manage, but at least Stella Mare’s clientele was way less iffy than the diner crowd she’d served in L.A., and the tips were _definitely_ better. Not to mention, the food was fantastic. Buffy clutched her little takeout bag, the remainder of the cassoulet that she’d gotten at a major discount. She’d eaten half for dinner, and was leaving the rest for Dawn, who would inevitably still be waiting up when she got home.

The tingle of a nearby vampire made her jerk backward as she rounded a street corner, and she immediately reached for the stake in her purse. She exhaled noisily when Spike slid into view. He was leaning indecently against a stop sign as he smoked, clearly waiting for her.

“God, Spike,” she muttered, lowering her stake. “Bell. Neck. Look into it.” 

He lifted a brow. “Is that an order, Mistress?” A wicked smirk played on his lips, and a wave of lust coursed through her lower belly. “Shall I get a nice leather collar to hang it on? Make a bit of a scene?”

Buffy licked her lips, heart hammering in her chest at the unexpected tantalization of the concept. “You’d… Really?”

Spike’s smirk widened. “Any color preferences?”

Buffy worried her bottom lip. _He’s actually serious._ “Um. You pick.” She lifted her takeout bag in a daze. “I have to get home to Dawn, but… later?”

Spike nodded, stepping away from the stop sign to land a fleeting, tobacco-scented kiss against her lips. “Later, pet.” He moved past her and paused on the curb, looking back over his shoulder with a wink. “Seems I have some shopping to do.”

Buffy watched him disappear into the dark with wide eyes. “Oh boy.”

***

Monday was half-price wine night at the Bronze, and the Scoobies were indulging in a gang hangout since Buffy had the night off. They’d claimed one of the couch-table combo sets along the wall, and Xander was telling stories from his goings-on at the construction site.

When Xander started in on a new story that promised gore, Willow, who was sitting next to Buffy, suddenly sat up ramrod straight.

Buffy regarded her with concern. "Everything okay, Wil?"

Willow cleared her throat and shot Buffy a furtive look. “Uhm,” she whispered. “You might wanna look over at the bar.”

Buffy frowned and glanced in that direction. Her heart rose up into her throat.

Spike was at the bar. And he was wearing a dark blue leather collar. It was a thin enough strap that it could be mistaken for a standard punk dude necklace, except for the small bell that hung front and center below his Adam’s apple and above the divot of his clavicle—the latter of which was in full view, thanks to the partially unbuttoned dark blue dress shirt he was wearing.

It was possibly the sexiest thing she had ever seen.

The subtext of the accessory certainly wasn’t lost on her, either. A collar was a marker of ownership, of submission, of control.

It meant he was hers.

And he was wearing it out where everyone could see.

Buffy could barely breathe when Spike retrieved the bottle of beer he’d been waiting on and swaggered in her direction. His gaze was riveted on her and, while his expression was neutral, his eyes were bright and glittering, drowning her in a sea of blue.

“Well well, how’s the Slayer and her crack team this fine evening?”

Xander broke off from his storytelling. “Captain Peroxide, why am I not surprised. Grab a seat if you wanna hear about some OSHA-related blood and gore.”

Spike raised a brow. “Blood and gore, eh? Sounds right up my alley.” He slid into the open space next to Tara and took a swig of his beer.

Xander nodded, looking glad to have an extra audience member who might enjoy a story that included mutilation. Then his gaze sharpened on the vampire and his mouth fell open. “Uh… Spike. _What_ are you wearing?”

Spike gave his outfit a once-over, scarred brow raising. “Clothes, Harris. You might’ve heard of them.”

“Very nice clothes,” Anya added.

“Ta, demon-girl.”

“You should give me a list of where you shop,” Anya continued matter-of-factly, “so I can look for clothes for Xander there.”

Both Spike and Xander looked equally horrified at the prospect.

“I am not wearing the same clothes as Spike, Ahn!”

“Yeah, you keep your mitts off my style, or I’ll have to burn my entire bloody wardrobe!”

Anya rolled her eyes. “You’re both being very silly. They’re nice clothes.”

“They’re _my_ clothes!” Spike said vehemently.

“No, you own one set of them,” Anya said calmly. “There are thousands of sets of that particular clothing out in the world.”

Tara giggled into her wine glass, then flushed when everyone looked at her. “Well, she’s not– not wrong.”

“This is why I go the secondhand route,” Willow said proudly. “I’m a mix of decades and styles. Just call me Willow, she of the eclectic and eco-friendly fashion boogaloo.”

“That’s the very best kind of boogaloo,” Tara said solemnly, flashing Willow a sly smile.

“We are also very seriously off-topic,” Xander said. He motioned emphatically toward Spike’s neck. “Does no one else see that Spike is wearing a dog collar?”

“I see it,” Anya said promptly. “It matches his eyes very well.”

Xander groaned. “That’s not the point.” He gave Spike a baffled look. “I mean, man, you’ve already got the dog name. The collar just seems like overkill.”

Spike shrugged carelessly, slinging an arm over the back of the couch. “Can’t ever kill anything too much.” He gave Buffy a sly, sideways look. “Wouldn’t you say, Slayer?”

Buffy froze as everyone turned to her, and Spike’s lips quirked knowingly. The bastard. She took a solid gulp of her wine and tried for nonchalance. “I mean, there’s no such thing as too dead in my book. Deader is just dead enough, that’s my Slayer motto.”

When no one seemed inclined to add further to the subject—Willow was, in fact, looking that she staunchly _didn’t_ want to add to it, and had no doubt somehow signaled to Tara to do the same—Xander exhaled noisily and thankfully let it drop. “Okay, whatever. About that story then…”

***

It was an hour before Buffy managed to slip away to the bar at the same time that Spike went up for another bottle of beer. She didn’t say a word as she dragged him out of sight to the catwalk, grasping his hand like a leash. Spike followed her obediently up the stairs, then waited for her to speak as she clutched at the railing behind her.

“Willow knows,” she blurted out.

Spike blinked at her. “Red knows… about us?”

“Uh huh.”

Spike chuckled. “That explains why she kept looking over at me all strange-like. Figured it was just the collar.” His expression sobered. “I don’t need to be watching out for hexes, do I?”

“No, definitely not. Willow is being all support-o girl.”

Spike’s mouth drew a mordant line. “Good. No one should fault you for having a bit of fun with a convenient bloke.”

“About that.”

Spike froze. Some mix of fear and anger flashed across his face. “Oh, I see. You brought me up here to break things off, then? Wil told you to give me the old heave-ho, convinced you to find yourself a better, more human kind of wanker who–”

Buffy rolled her eyes and slapped a hand over Spike’s mouth. “Will you just shut up for a minute?”

Spike hesitated, then gave her a terse nod.

Buffy removed her hand. “Okay. Good. Because I need you to listen hard here. Are you listening?”

Spike’s nostrils flared, his jaw clenching. “Yes, Mistress,” he grated out.

She brushed a hand along Spike’s collar until her fingers met the bell in front. She flicked it lightly and it gave a little tinkling chime. A real bell for a real collar. “This is ridiculously sexy,” she admitted.

Spike swallowed hard, his gaze still flinty with anger. “Glad it meets your approval,” he said stiffly.

“It really, really does. Like… _ooph_.” She let her hand drop and screwed her courage. “I want to change the rules of engagement, okay?”

Spike frowned. “Change how?”

“I don’t want your choice to be a Sally Hansen one anymore.”

Spike barked a laugh, just as she hoped he might, his anger fading. “Scyllian, luv.”

“Uh huh, that one,” she agreed easily.

Spike cocked his head as he scrutinized her. “So, just what are you wanting to change in my favor?”

“I want to try dating you,” she managed steadily. “I want to see… if we have a future.” _I want to see if I can love you._

Spike’s mouth parted in shock. “You do?”

“I do.” Buffy held up her index finger in warning. “On two conditions.”

Spike gave a breathless laugh. “Whatever you want, Slayer.” He touched the collar pointedly. “Your wish is my command.”

Warm desire wound through her every limb. “Good, because we are definitely having sex while you’re wearing that.”

Spike grinned at her. “Is that the first condition?” 

“Uh huh.”

“What’s the second?”

Buffy drew in a sharp breath. _Here goes nothing._ “When Willow helps me deactivate your chip, you’re going to continue wearing that collar—literally or figuratively—for good. No going back to evil, no trying to end the world, no snacking on civilians, no running away for my own good or the public good or any kind of good unless I want you gone. Also, you will owe me a real fight scene. Are we clear?”

Spike’s expression turned slack with stunned astonishment, then his eyes narrowed and he grasped her hard by her upper arms. He was shaking so hard that he was making her vibrate from the connection. “You better not be playing with me, Slayer. I'll bloody well rip out your brain stem, chip be damned, if you're playing me…”

“I’m not playing you,” Buffy said softly. Her chin lifted. “But I swear to god, Spike, if you so much as nip someone, I will send you to hell faster than–”

The rest of her words were drowned out as Spike caught her up in a searing kiss.

“Never,” he whispered desperately between kisses, crushing her to him. “I’m yours. I’m so bleeding yours. I’m yours. _I’m yours_.”

Spike’s bell chimed in emphasis as he moved and Buffy laughed breathlessly. “I know.”

***

Three weeks later, Willow’d found a way to hack the Initiative chip and essentially fry it without frying Spike’s brain in the process, through some mix of technology and magic that Buffy only half-understood.

Ten minutes after that, Spike and Buffy had found their way to an abandoned house Spike had scoped out for them to have a fun, private fight scene in. Except the house turned out to be majorly less sturdy than advertised, and Buffy had no more than stopped beating Spike up in favor of riding him than they fell straight through the floor and into the basement.

“ _Ow_.”

Spike grimaced from beneath her, barely visible through the dark and plumes of rising dust. “You’re not the one who landed on the bottom.”

“And yet, you’re still hard,” Buffy said in disbelief as she experimentally rolled her hips, his cock having magically remained buried up to the hilt inside her.

“Fuck yeah I am. Just got to go a real round with you for the first time in years and you’re currently strangling my cock with your glorious cunt.” Spike gripped her hips warningly. “Now, will you bloody well move?”

Buffy ripped his tattered t-shirt down the middle so that her hands rested on his marble chest, nails digging in hard enough to break the skin the way she’d found he liked. “Say please.”

Spike groaned beneath her, the noise heady with lust and torment. “Please, Mistress.”

“Good boy,” she said with a grin as she kissed him and slowly rocked her hips.

***

Buffy collapsed on Spike’s floor, panting and completely turned to jelly from their latest round of ‘see who can get the other to come the fastest.’ She glanced around blearily from underneath one of Spike's Oriental rugs. “We missed the bed again.”

Spike grinned from beside her, lifting himself up on an elbow. He looked absolutely debauched—his hair was a mess of scattered curls, and scratches littered his skin everywhere in sight. Somehow, even though he could give as good as he got now, he was still the one who always came out the worse for wear.

“The bed’s just there for looks, as far as you and I are concerned. Nothing kinky about treading where your formers previously marooned you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Buffy said lightly. “Getting marooned again sometime could be fun, with the right company.”

Spike lifted a brow. “That right?”

Buffy just smiled and lightly brushed a finger across the deep gouge on his bicep. Spike didn’t even flinch. He almost seemed to covet the marks she gave him, in some weirdly flattering kind of way. But thank god he wore his duster even in the depths of southern California’s summer, or else the Scoobies would have started asking really uncomfortable questions weeks ago.

It wasn’t that she was ashamed to come out of the ‘dating a vampire (again)’ closet, she just wasn’t ready to face the massive onslaught of her friends’ and Watcher’s judgement. At least Willow would be on her side, especially now that Spike had proven himself equally—if not more­—restrained sans chip. There was an ease to him now that she hadn’t realized had been missing until he’d been free—a kind of desperate, hunted edge to his demeanor that had disappeared.

And he had become, if it was possible, even more hers.

Buffy frowned in thought. “You know, all this time, we’ve been planning our scenes around me.”

Spike shrugged. “Well, yeah. That was rather the point from the get-go.”

She fixed him with a searching look. “But what about you? Don’t you ever want to be the one calling the shots?”

“Don’t need to be topping to enjoy the hell out of what we do, pet.”

“No, I know… I just…” Buffy paused, trying to organize her thoughts. “Don’t you ever want to make me yours the way I make you mine?”

Spike regarded her unreadably. “Would you let me?”

She thought about playing coy, but stopped herself. Spike deserved better; and besides, the rules of responsible kink demanded clear consent, at least before the scene actually began. “Yes.”

“Well then.” Spike sat up, nodding to the opposite side of the room with a challenge in his eyes. “What say you and I re-do a bit of our past? Hopefully without any fucking interruptions this time.”

Buffy followed his gaze. There, across the way in an alcove, still hung the shackles that he’d used to hold her captive after Drusilla’d come back to town. Amazingly, the memory no longer made her furious. Instead, excitement prickled across her skin. "A re-do, huh?"

Spike nodded cautiously.

"Okay. I'm game."

***

Buffly slowly, muzzily opened her eyes, and Spike’s face swam into unnervingly close view.

“There she is,” he murmured, eyes bright. “Was beginning to think you’d sleep the night away.”

Buffy made to step back, and was immediately thwarted. She tugged desperately at the shackles holding up her bare arms and realized, to her horror, that her arms weren't the only body parts that were bare. She was completely naked from head to toe. Spike must’ve stripped her once he and Drusilla had knocked her out. Great. And speaking of Miss Tall, Dark, and Psycho…

“Drusilla,” she said warily, trying in vain to cover her nakedness. “Where’s Drusilla?”

“Not here,” Spike said flatly. “I saw her off. This is about you and me, not her.”

Buffy huffed in disgust, giving the shackles another hard tug. “Oh joy, so now she’s just off eating the populace in another corner of the world.”

Something dark and haunted entered Spike’s expression. “I didn’t see her off out of town, Slayer.”

Buffy’s mouth fell open before she could stop it. “You… you dusted her?”

Spike’s mouth twisted bitterly and he started pacing tightly in front of her, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Had to prove it to you, didn’t I? Had to show you I was willing to dust the woman who’d been my salvation, who’d made me what I am, so you’d see…”

Oh god, _this_ was part of Spike's re-do? Did he think Buffy might have believed his love declaration more if he'd actually done the deed and killed his long-time lover? These days, she understood the intended gesture for what it was­—that killing Drusilla was his way to show her that he was killing the version of himself who'd wanted a life steeped in evil and chaos­—but back then... she wouldn't have been able to believe him even if she'd gotten the symbolism. 

"Tell me you see," Spike demanded angrily, nearly in tears.

 _I want to, Spike. Because I do see it now._ But the her of 'now' wasn't the Buffy that Spike wanted her to be for this exercise.

Buffy forced her expression into a look of unimpressed, disgusted incredulity. “See what? That you’re a sick, miserable vampire in desperate need of a hobby?”

“Miserable?” Spike stopped in front of her, lips curling back in a sneer. “Hell yeah, I’m miserable! Stuck here in this sodding town with a bloody chip in my head, aren’t I? And sick, yeah, I’m that too.” He pressed his hand over his heart, desperate agony coating his features. “Can’t be anything but sick to feel like how I do for you. But you’re wrong on one count: you _are_ my hobby these days, pet. You’re everywhere I look, everywhere I turn.” He ran a frantic hand through his hair, looking furious and hopeless. “You’ve wormed yourself into my head and my heart and my blood. And I. Bloody. Well. Can’t. Escape. You.”

Buffy yawned theatrically and looked toward the ceiling, ignoring the way her heart was suddenly thumping in her chest. “Well, gee, have you tried _not_ chaining me up naked in your grody crypt?”

Spike snarled and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him again. “Don’t make light of this! I know you feel something for me.”

“I do,” Buffy said tightly. “I do feel something for you, Spike.”

Spike released her chin, hope lighting his eyes. “Yeah?”

“It’s called revulsion.”

The hope in his eyes died, quickly shifting to something like mutinous determination. “Pretend all you like, luv, but I know the truth.”

“The truth,” Buffy repeated with dubious amusement. “And just what is the truth according to William the Bloody?”

“The truth,” Spike said lowly, “is that you love me, but you don’t know how to admit it. Good news is, I know how to help you get there.”

He shifted away from her, over to his dresser. Buffy craned her neck after him despite herself, but couldn’t see what he was doing. She waited impatiently until he came back with what looked a silver chain dangling from one hand and something fully enclosed in the other.

“You’re… going to entice me with jewelry?” she hazarded.

Spike fixed her with an evil grin and held out his left hand, palm up, so that she could see the chained item in full.

It was set of silver nipple clamps.

Buffy swallowed hard. “What’s in the other hand?”

His right palm opened to reveal a small silver butt plug.

“Well, that’s… matchy,” she said hesitantly.

Something in her tone must’ve worried him, because Spike closed his hands back over both items. “Not thinking of a certain ex of yours, are you?”

Buffy shook her head and met his eyes squarely. “Just you, Spike. Do your worst.”

“I rather figured,” he said slowly, stepping close and tweaking her nipples hard enough that she gasped, “that I’d do my best.”

“Isn’t it all the same for you?” she managed snarkily, trying not to look down as Spike attached the first clamp to her now very erect left nipple. It closed around her with a hard pinch, tugging hard enough that she couldn’t escape the pressure, but not painfully so.

“Oh no, Slayer,” Spike said gravely, his eyes burning blue fire, “if I were doing my worst, you’d be wishing you were dead. As it is…” He palmed her right breast and snapped on the second clip with deft fingers.

The silver chain between the two clamps fell down her sternum in a slide of cool metal and Buffy shivered, unable to keep from panting as all her blood rushed down between her thighs. She squirmed, closing her legs tight.

“You’re right,” she said ground out. “Right now, I just wish _you_ were dead.”

“About a century too late for that,” Spike said with calm mirth as he tugged upward on the clamp chain.

Buffy mewled, half with pain and half with completely unexpected pleasure as the tension sent a line of swollen fire straight down to her clit.

“Did you know,” Spike said conversationally as he dropped the chain and slid around behind her, “that some ladies can orgasm just from nipple stimulation?”

“Trust you to know the grossest facts,” Buffy muttered. Something cold touched the middle of her back, and she jerked against the shackles.

“Just me here, luv,” Spike murmured, sounding more like his current-day self. His touch slid south over the peaks and valleys of her spine before halting just above the seam of her ass. “Just me.” His touch moved on, tracing the half circle of her right butt cheek before grabbing it and pushing it toward her hip. Cool air hit the starred bud of her ass.

Buffy held her breath and waited for the intrusion.

Nothing came.

Instead, Spike’s hand let go of her ass cheek. “No,” he whispered silkily, dangerously against her ear. “I don’t think you’re ready for that yet.”

Buffy frowned, strange disappointment rising. “Not ready?”

“Not ready,” he repeated. “Best warm you up first.”

“What, nipple clamps don’t– _Ahh_!” The slap across her ass cheek was more shocking than painful, but Buffy jerked hard against the shackles. The nipple clamps jerked with her, and a wave of torturous pleasure crashed through her as the chain swung to and fro. She moaned when the chain settled back against her and the sensation faltered. Everything between her thighs ached desperately, throbbing and swollen. “Spike…”

“Yes, luv?”

“I need…”

“What do you need?”

“I need you to touch me.”

She could practically hear Spike’s grin, and she knew exactly what was coming next. Damn him.

Another blow landed on her ass, harder.

She rocked with it, her back arching, and set her jaw. “Again.”

Spike chuckled. “I think you’ve forgotten who’s in charge here, Slayer. But that feistiness tells me you’re ready after all.”

The plug was resting against her ass before she could prepare for it—slick with lube of some kind, thank god. She struggled for a snappy comeback worthy of her younger self. “You’re deluded if you think this is going to make me love you.”

“Oh, you already love me. This is just going to make you admit it.”

“In your dreams.”

“Often,” he agreed as he pushed the anal plug in—slower than Buffy was afraid he might, and faster than she’d hoped for.

She quaked against the shackles as the pressure pushed at her clit from the inside, pairing with the front-outward pressure from the clamps. Her knees buckled.

“Something tells me,” Spike whispered evilly, “that you’re warming up to me already.”

Buffy sagged against her bonds, trembling. “Maybe,” she whispered.

A blow landed on her ass without warning.

Buffy threw her head back and moaned as the butt plug rocked inside her. “Oh god.”

“No, just me, pet.”

Spike smacked her again.

And again.

And again.

Buffy struggled to find her footing when he paused, nearly crying as wetness slid down between her thighs. Her pussy throbbed to the time of her heart beat—relentlessly, agonizingly pulsing. “Spike, please.”

“Ooo, baby, I like it when you beg.” Another blow fell. “Do it again.”

Buffy clutched the shackles like lifelines, gasping for breath as the demand for release screamed from her every cell. She felt nearly blind with need, unable to focus on anything except the call of her inflamed blood. “ _Please_.”

Another blow hit and she cried out her torment—stuck on the edge and unable to fall over it. Frustrated tears spilled from her eyes."Spike, I can't..."

“Shhh.” A cool palm caressed her abused ass cheek. “Just tell me how you feel and it’ll be over.”

She thought about throwing out a righteous quip—staying stalwart to the end and going down fighting like her younger self might've. But damnit, she didn’t want to. Not when the point of the game was to give them both what they needed. Not when she suspected the words he wanted to hear might actually be true. Not when she so desperately wanted to try them out and see.

“Spike.”

“Yes, Slayer?”

“I love you.”

There was a sharp inhalation, then Spike came back fully into view. He stood in front of her, his expression gentle as he wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I love you too, Buffy.”

He pulled off the nipple clamps, ducking his head to soothe the now hyper-sensitive skin with two light kisses, and that was it—the push over the cliff’s edge that she’d been dying for. Buffy came with a sob, writhing against the manacles and constricting against the plug until she thought she might black out. She barely felt Spike remove the plug and the shackles afterward when she hung limp, drained, and barely conscious, and would have fallen straight to the ground if he hadn’t caught her.

He lifted her into his arms like a bride. “It’s alright, pet, I’ve got you,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses to her sweaty forehead as he steered them to his bed. He curled up with her against the headboard, whispering endearments and gently massaging her muscles.

Finally, Buffy found the strength to rouse. She looked up into a face filled with love. “Wow,” she said hoarsely. “That was… wow.”

A smile flitted across Spike’s lips. “You were magnificent. How are you feeling?”

“Like a very wet, very spent noodle.”

“Can noodles spend, luv?”

“Apparently,” Buffy muttered. She nuzzled hard against his shoulder. “Be proud. You got a noodle off.”

“I’d rather have gotten a Buffy off.”

“Oh, you did that too.”

“Brilliant.” There was laughter in his voice. He hesitated, then added, “Thanks for playing along. I was worried about making you say _that_ for the endgame, but you… Thank you.”

Buffy lifted her head and met his gaze frankly. “That part wasn’t playing. I think.”

Spike searched her face, hope and terror coating his features with equal measure. “Buffy?”

“I think I might actually love you,” she whispered. “Only… my head is all sorts of uncooperative right now. Can I say it again later, if I’m more sure?”

Spike swallowed hard. A quaking shudder ran through him and the arms clutching her tightened almost convulsively. He buried his head against the inside of her shoulder. “Whenever you feel like saying it, I’ll be here.”

***

Buffy did end up saying ‘I love you’ while being of fully sound mind the next morning, after she woke up in Spike’s arms, sore and still throbbing in all the right ways, and realized there was nowhere else she wanted to be. Which meant it was more than time for her to come clean about her relationship with Spike to the gang.

She really shouldn’t have worried. As it turned out, Xander was the only one of the group to not already know they were dating.

“The collar was a dead give-away,” Anya said placidly as she sorted through mail order receipts at the Magic Box counter.

Dawn's nose wrinkled from where she sat at the research table with Tara and Xander, since it seemed only fair that Dawn be privy to the announcement, too. “A collar?! I so don’t even want to know.” She gave Buffy a smug look. “I know because I’ve seen Spike climb in your window loads of times in the past couple months. Plus, you two are way less quiet at playing checkers than you think you are. I keep having to wear my headphones to bed.”

Buffy froze, mortified, as she clutched Spike’s hand. “ _Oh my god_. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Dawn just shrugged. “Because you seemed really happy when you thought you were getting away with it.”

“I’ve known since last month, when Wil accidentally spilled the beans,” Tara admitted.

Willow hunched in her seat. “Sorry. I’m the worst secret-keeper ever.”

“Apparently not,” Xander grumbled, arms crossed petulantly over his chest. “Since I was still getting kept in the dark over here.”

“It’s hardly their fault that you’re clearly blind and deaf,” Giles muttered from where he was perusing a book at the counter. He gave Buffy a self-suffering look. “In the future, please do remember that, while the training room walls are sturdy, they are not soundproof.”

Buffy wanted to melt through the floor. Why couldn't that be a special Slayer superpower? She hid herself against Spike’s chest, squeezing her eyes shut against the humiliation. “I have to move to Siberia now,” she moaned into his shirt. “Where no one has ever heard of me.”

Spike snorted. “You know your mates would just follow us there.”

“Your bet your pasty, undead behind we would,” Xander said vehemently. “And hey, Buffster, it’s not like you’re the first one to deal with major humiliation. For reference, just see, oh, pretty much my entire high school career.”

“And there was that time in the fifth grade that you had to dress up as a giant ostrich for our year-end play,” Willow added.

“Oh yeah, can’t forget that slice of magnificence,” Xander agreed. “I think my mom even has it on video somewhere still, in case you ever want to know what rock bottom looks like.”

Buffy laughed despite herself and the tension broke. She turned in Spike’s arms to look at the room again.

“Siberia is incredibly boring,” Anya told her as she stacked receipts and slipped them into a counter drawer. “Trust me, I took a vengeance job there once, and once was more than enough.”

“Plus, I think it gets really cold there,” Tara said with concern, looking that she was trying very hard not to smile. “Southern California is a much more pleasant climate."

“I may also remind you,” Giles said placidly, “that the hellmouth needs you far more than northern Asia.”

Buffy laughed. “Geez, way to pull the ‘sacred duty’ card, Giles." She sighed with exaggerated disappointment. "I guess Siberia is a 'no.' I'll just have to take my knocks here." She pointed at Xander. "But you better start digging out that bird video, mister."

Xander grinned. "You got it."

Buffy returned the smile and then glanced up at Spike, who was looking bemused, but in a smug, completely-at-ease kind of way. “How are you not at all fazed about this? Are you just that shameless?”

“You bloody well bet I am,” he said with a devilish smirk, something suspiciously more evil than usual about the expression.

Buffy spun out of his arms to point accusingly at him as realization struck. “You asshole! You _knew_ people had caught onto us!"

Spike affected an expression of perfect innocence. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, pet.”

Buffy glared at him. “You are in so much trouble.”

Spike tucked his tongue behind his teeth and leered at her. “Gonna punish me for it later?”

Dawn clapped her hands over her ears with a squeak. “Ew, ew, ew! Someone get me out of here before I need like ten more years of therapy.”

Xander stood immediately, looking a bit green around the gills. “Right there with you. You can stay with me and Ahn tonight so that Buffy can enjoy a night out of the shadows with Evil Dead Jr.”

"Awesome." Dawn immediately grabbed her backpack, then paused, looking suspicious. "You guys are going to keep things PG, right?"

Xander shot Anya a questioning look, and Anya beamed with prompt, Stepford wife worthy reassurance. "Oh yes. We'll be G-rated, even. Why, we'll be the most child-friendly place in Sunnydale."

Dawn sighed. "Great." She shot Buffy a warning look. "I'm not wearing headphones to bed anymore."

Buffy winced. "Noted."

After Xander ushered the youngest Summers out of the Magic Box and the door had closed behind them, Willow heaved a relieved sigh. “Well, that went pretty well, don’t you think? Minimal Dawn scarrage, _and_ Spike’s chip being gone didn’t even come up.”

Giles dropped the book he’d been perusing onto the counter with thud. “Spike’s _what_ being gone?”

Willow's eyes widened, and she shot Buffy an apologetic look. “Oh. Um. Oops?”

Buffy sighed and turned to face her suddenly thunderous Watcher, managing a weak smile. “So, um, Giles… have you ever heard of predicament bondage? Because, as it so happens, it's a pretty great metaphor for important life stuff…”


End file.
